


Dust, Sand, and Star

by narqueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Lotura - Freeform, Multichapter, also rated for future chapters because my kids are gonna [redacted] eventually, because they deserve it, for once in my life i'm gonna write something with a happy ending, how sexy can texas be???? we shall find out, lotor and allura fall in love in the desert montage but it's also texas so, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narqueen/pseuds/narqueen
Summary: She's still heartbroken, and he's still a monster. Here, the color of blood is love.[Post-S6. Team Voltron recaptures Lotor and holds him prisoner for his crimes. Lotura.]





	Dust, Sand, and Star

The worst part, really, is that quintessence has made him no less lovely.

.

She re-enters the rift without permission. Despite her better judgement, Allura steals Blue away in the dead of night to slice open a space between realities. The riskiness of the venture is difficult to justify; the memory of the Castle bursting against the dark is still so fresh. If anything, it makes her resent Lotor all the more.

But Allura’s a _princess,_ for gods’ sake – daughter of King Alfor, the only heir to the Altean throne, and a pilot of Voltron to boot. Why should _she,_ of all people, be asking permission to make this journey? Why should she have to defend a _rescue?_

It may be her imagination, but somehow, the spinning white thrum of quintessence makes guilt feel a thousand times worse than it ever does in deep space.

.

Fortunately, the Sincline mech floats fairly close to the mouth of the rift. The convenience of it comes with an eeriness that Allura chooses not to examine too closely. What Lance calls _luck,_ Allura calls _karma._  

Time here is sparse, unstable. She jumps out of Blue, landing squarely on the windowfront of the mech. There, behind a blister of breaks through the glass, is Lotor: unconscious, pale hair spilled across the dash.

A lump forms in her throat. For all his violence, Allura also remembers the intensity of Lotor’s eagerness, the soft press of his kiss. The brightness of memory does not match up with the man before her.

With one hand, Allura punches the glass until it fractures and falls.

.

They hold him hostage in Keith’s basement. Before she’d returned to the war, Krolia had outfitted the Kogane household with Galra tech; with a few alchemic adjustments, an old motion detector and a tangle of open wire become a security system personally tailored to Lotor’s DNA. 

“You take _one_ step out of here,” Krolia demonstrates, toeing a purple strip of light humming across the doorframe, “and this laser _fries_ you. Got that? Show me you understand.” 

Lotor tilts his head, those white whorls of hair a slash across his face. He’s not looking at either of them.

“Princess,” he murmurs, “how long do you intend to keep me here?” 

It takes all Allura has not to forgo diplomacy in favor of anger. “You are a danger to others, and a criminal to the Altean people,” she answers grimly. “Until we are able to properly dispense justice, you will have to get used to your new bearings.”

 _Always_ lingers between them, unspoken. _We will always keep you locked away._

Lotor grins, and some of that glittering icy rift-madness flashes through the gesture. “I understand.”

.

Not even an hour later, Lotor’s laughter rattles the Kogane household, the sound of it heartily accompanied by a steady hum of electricity.

.

Of course, it doesn’t kill him. Allura personally tends to Lotor’s wounds – mostly because she’s fairly certain that anyone else might strangle him and save them all the trouble. Their interactions are uncommunicative, brimming with tension. Lotor never looks her in the eye. 

The moment he can move again, Lotor walks straight back into the lasers. After that, Keith quietly replaces the system with a good old-fashioned Texas deadbolt: lock, key, and all.

 .

Like most of the worlds they visit, Earth is a strange, lovely place. Shiro takes them on a tour around the Garrison; Pidge insists on a day in the arcade center. Hunk introduces her to something called “jellybeans”: tiny gemlike confections dispensed in a rainbow of colors – all of which, Lance promises, are absent of dairy.

In fact, Lance has been promising her a lot of things as of late. He asks her out once, twice, three times; unlike before (when his flirting held no weight) there’s a seriousness to this round of courtship. “It’ll be fun,” he swears, hopefulness shining from every part of his face. “C’mon, Allura. Have you ever been on a roller coaster? It’s like hurtling towards your death, but for fun!”

Appreciative as she may be for the shift in character, Allura feels nothing besides sisterly affection for her teammate. “I’m sorry, Lance.” She tries to keep her voice steady. “But I don’t think that would be a good idea right now.” 

Inwardly: _Love is a wound I dare not repeat._

.

His first real words to her are, “You are a fool.”

They’re in the middle of feeding: Lotor on the bed, his hands tied up, hair pulled back. All activities with Lotor need to be closely monitored, lest he hide a utensil for picking the lock, or harm himself in an attempt to escape. Across from him, Allura sits with her legs crossed, a bowl of clam chowder balanced in her lap.

“Stop talking,” she orders crisply, jamming the spoon into his mouth. “You’re going to choke.”

Lotor bites down on it, the metal clacking against his teeth. Allura has no choice but to yank the spoon back out, leaving Lotor hissing in pain.

“I said,” he breathes, “you are a _fool._ ”

Allura tosses her hands up. “And why is that, Lotor? Because I trusted you? Because I thought you were on our side? Believe me, I already know.”

“Because the paladins will never let me live,” he replies, leaning back. Even with the madness and the bound wrists and the smear of chowder at the corner of his mouth, Lotor still manages to look regal. “Playing house will only last so long. What is your endgame, Allura? Will you turn in the end, as you have done before? Will you look me in the eye as I am executed?” 

“Stop being so dire,” she retorts, “you’ve got food on your face.”

On reflex, she napkins the soup off him; helpfully, Lotor leans in for a better angle. Despite herself, the napkin roves over his lips for longer than she’d planned. They linger like that, quietly enclosed, enveloped by the dark shutter of his quarters and the muffled blips of a video game from the living room overhead.

 _This is absurd,_ she thinks, wildly. _This is not right._

“What if I killed you?” he murmurs. “Would you stay with me then, Allura? Would you still have feelings for me, even with my hands around your throat?”

Gone is that easy charm and wholeheartedly-misplaced idealism. All that is left of Lotor is the curve of his words, the glint in his grin.

.

“Quintessence doesn’t turn a person evil,” Shiro says, for what must be the fiftieth time. “It just amplifies what’s already there.” His hair is silver, and his face is worn. “Whatever you have to do about Lotor, Allura, don’t feel badly about it. We respect any choice you’ll make.”

Privately, Allura suspects that the other paladins are exasperated by her decision to rescue Lotor. Perhaps they’ve tolerated her this long out of comradery – but in their absence, the galaxy remains unguarded. The Galran empire is in disarray; Sendak, still wreaking havoc on innocents. Even without the Castle, Voltron cannot stand idle forever.

It feels sort of perverse, trying to decide Lotor’s fate while he lives just below them. It feels _unfair._ Everything in her life has been for the greater good and, just this _once_ , Allura wants to be selfish. 

“Thank you, Shiro.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll remember that.”

His smile is kind but weak. There’s a fissure there, an impatience she is unused to. _Make your choice, Allura. For the good of the team. For Voltron. Please._

.

“I never meant to hurt you.” 

He’s a little more lucid today, picking at his dinner. Even without sunlight or a varied diet, Lotor has retained his beauty, save for a faint slightness in his frame. It has been a month since his rescue; two days prior, they’d given Lotor the privilege of remaining untied during feedings, so long as he remained ten feet from the door when Allura was going in or out.

“Pardon?” She talks around a bite of fried chicken, a greasy hand daintily imposed over her mouth. “I didn’t quite catch that.” 

Lotor peels the breaded skin off a KFC wing. “I said that I never meant to hurt you. In the rift. During the battle. You must understand.”

A darkness eclipses the room. Allura puts down her food, appetite quickly dissipating. “Don’t speak of it, Lotor. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

He stiffens, almost imperceptibly. With a definite air of bitterness, Lotor tosses the uneaten chicken back into the red-and-white bucket Hunk had brought their dinner in. “I understand, Princess.”

From his tone, Allura can tell he doesn’t.

“You tried to _murder_ me,” she argues. “You tried to destroy Voltron! You lied to me, betrayed me, used me…” Abruptly she rises, wiping her fingers on a used cloth, too distracted to procure a new one. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. There’s nothing to be discussed.”

“Allura.”

His hand catches hers, and _gods,_ she wants to hit him.

“Let go of me, Lotor, before I start screaming.”

“Don’t.” He wheels her around, pressing far too close for comfort. “Don’t scream.”

She can smell the oil on his breath, the freshness of soap on his skin. In another life, Allura would already be on him – without hesitation, without reprieve. 

“Come with me,” he rasps. A hand moves to her face. “Help me escape. We can leave this world. Start another. I’ll take you to the colonies, and I swear, I will never extract quintessence from another living being as long as I live. You have my word, Princess.”

And, just briefly, Allura is tempted. She imagines the rush of wind on her face and a splinter of stars. When Lotor’s thumb strokes her cheek, the fantasy pinwheels into a brilliantly vivid vision of him making love to her on the sand; in the sea; in every bed in the galaxy.

But Allura deserves more. She deserves so many things – a fresh start, an unbroken heart, a lover without blood on his hands. None of these things can be found in Lotor, regardless of how badly she wants them. 

“You’re a monster,” she says, pulling herself from his grip. “I will _never_ help you.”

Hurt is brief and raw on his face. Just as fast, Lotor sits back down on his cot, staring pointedly at the wall. “I see,” he replies, coolly. “You may leave now.” 

And though she is not in the habit of taking orders – from a _prisoner_ , no less – Allura does just that.

. 

She cannot kill him. No matter how much he may deserve it, no matter how often Altean ghosts haunt her dreams, Allura _cannot kill him._ It is not within her nature. It is not her place.

.

“Please.” She’s pleading with Krolia, trying to hold back a frustrated spill of tears. “I need your help.”

. 

During Keith’s infancy, his father had built a bunker in anticipation for another Galra invasion – this time, without Krolia’s assistance. The patriarch of the Kogane household constructed a shelter that would cover the worst-case scenario: that the Blue Lion would be stolen, and that he’d have to defend his child against a cavalry of super-powered Galran forces.

“We can keep him there,” Krolia argues in defense of Allura’s plan. “Look, I don’t like it as much as any of you do. But at the very least, Lotor’s a valuable bargaining chip. Should Sendak ever get the better of you, I can guarantee that he’d be interested in eliminating the only legitimate heir of the former Galra Empire. Even Haggar might be an interested party.”

After that, it’s settled. The paladins knock Lotor out for a one-hour drive across the sun-splattered dirt: Hunk and Lance in their lions, Keith on his bike, and Allura on her cruiser: her hair a rippling slash the wind, her gaze a blue blaze across the desert.

. 

When Lotor wakes, his hands are behind his back – this time, in Galra cuffs. Only Allura is present at Lotor’s de-briefing, in part because she’d asked for it, but mostly because she _needs_ it. Too often, Lotor has underestimated her; too often, he has taken advantage. Some small, vitriolic part of her knows to assert control in this moment. Allura must be successful. She _must._  

“That was _quite_ uncomfortable,” Lotor drawls, stretching his neck. “Care to explain your recent penchant for abusing prisoners?” He glances skeptically at the stretch of shrub and cacti, then at the wood-paneled shack he’s propped against. “Is this some sort of Earthly torture chamber? I have to say, I’ll give them credit. It’s always the facilities that look decrepit which harbor the most painful of torments.”

“Prince Lotor, son of Zarkon,” Allura’s voice does not waver. “Listen to me very carefully.” 

Surprise flashes across his face – clearly, he had not expected such formality. “I could always run, you know.”

“Run if you must,” Allura snaps. “You will find nothing but miles of barren desert. Most of the technology on Earth is unsuited to space travel, and we’ve got a tracking device to monitor your whereabouts, regardless. Even under the best of circumstances, you won’t get far.” 

Lotor raises a brow at the landscape. “Is this your dispensation of justice, Princess? Leaving me here to starve? How… _uncivilized_ of you. _I_ certainly wouldn’t –”

“Be _quiet!_ ”

That shuts him up. Lotor’s features lose their hostility; ashamed by the outburst, Allura looks down, clenching her fists.

“You don’t deserve clemency,” she continues in a low, measured tone. “But Voltron has decided to grant it to you anyway.” A breath. “You will remain here, on Earth, tilling the land until the end of your days.”

“Allura, you can’t be serious – “

“As the sole representative of Altea, _and the new Altean colonies,_ I, Princess Allura, sentence you to exile on Earth. Your crimes against our people will not be forgotten.”

Even in chains, Lotor looks murderous. His eyes openly flit in all directions, not bothering to be discreet in searching for an escape. When he comes up empty (Texas truly _is_ miles of nothing), Allura thinks she sees something snap in his gaze.

“What if I wounded you?” he hisses, taking a step forward, the ill of quintessence resurfacing. “Stole the cruiser, destroyed Voltron. I could let you _rot._ ” 

Allura doesn’t say, _Keith is watching as we speak._ She doesn’t say, _Pidge’s tracker would catch you in time for any one of the paladins to subdue you._ She doesn’t say, _How could you say that to me, I’m trying to help you, I’m trying to save your life._

Instead, she asks, “Would you do that, Lotor? Would you really harm me?”

The edge dissipates from Lotor’s face. Against the hazy rose of dusk, he stands still, clearly at a loss for words. Sourly, she suspects that Lotor remains silent because he knows that saying _Yes, I would,_ would not bode well for him in the long-run.

Allura shakes her head, mounting the cruiser as she does so. “There are supplies and instructions for your stay inside. One of the paladins will come to check on you tomorrow. I’ll return within the next week.”

With that, she leaves Lotor in the shadow of the safe-house, racing against the creep of night as if running for her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a fix-it fic, sort of not. Lotor's still a murderer, but they're going fall in love, anyway.
> 
> My tumblr is @narkik.


End file.
